The 12 Days of Christmas
by Alexander-Alfonz
Summary: "On the first day of Christmas, my true love died for me." I clutched the limp hand of my beloved, cradling it onto my chest as gut-wrenching sobs fell from my lips, tears streaming down as an endless waterfall streaming down my face; he only smiled at me sadly in – what I thought – was guilt. I could see the life slowly draining out of him. Drarry. No magic AU. Angst.


**Hi everyone! I was bored and couldn't think of any ideas, and since it's two months until December, I thought I'd write an angsty Christmas fanfic. I hope you guys don't mind.  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. They all belong to J.K Rowling.  
Warning: Angst, angst and more angst. And major character death. Please don't cry. I warned you.**

"On the first day of Christmas, my true love died for me."

I clutched the limp hand of my beloved, cradling it onto my chest as gut-wrenching sobs fell from my lips, tears streaming down as an endless waterfall streaming down my face; he only smiled at me sadly in – what I thought – was guilt. I brushed a strand of that – all too familiar – blond hair out of his grey eyes; 'His eyes used to be covered with blue speckles,' I thought bitterly. Hesitantly, I leaned down and pressed a small, chaste kiss to his temple that earned me a small comforting hum from the blonde's throat. My emerald eyes were entranced into those grey eyes; I could see the life slowly draining out of him. His lips quivered – I could see the lips try to form words.

"I love you…..don't leave me…"

I choked back another sob as I saw his eyelids lock shut as I held his – now completely limp – body.

"N-never…..I-I'll never leave y-you," was my choked reply.

"On the second day of Christmas, the funeral was empty."

I sat – alone – in the silence of the day as black robed figures lowered the expensive coffin – He wouldn't want anything but the best – into the ground. My gaze drifted to my surroundings; the empty chairs stood there beside me – almost mockingly. No one had the decency to show up at his funeral. It took bribing to even get the priest to get him to host the funeral. He stood there with a sullen expression written on his face as he drawled on monotonously, blessing his soul and wishing him farewell. I could almost see the disgusted expression my beloved would give me at this moment if he were witnessing this – a pointed sneer painted on his face that would melt into an honest smile when he glanced in my direction. It broke my heart whenever I thought of the blonde – laying limp in my arms after I saw the last few seconds of life escape him – and how no one had helped him, stepped in to stop the bullet; no one was giving me answers either, avoiding my presence at all costs. I knew he didn't have the best of reputations – 'But they just let him die in my arms' the bitter voice in my head answered me.

"You shall leave now," the priest urged me out of my stupor and I couldn't take my eyes off the new patch of that probably covered his coffin. I gave him an uncharacteristic glare and stood, leaving the premises in complete silence.

I'll never leave him – not until the end of time.

"On the third day of Christmas, I cried over my lover's memory."

I sat down in the chair of my beloved's library inside the manor, clutching his shirt in my arm. It smelled of him – the sandalwood and vanilla scent that haunted my every dream. I remember how I used to bury my head in his neck and breathe in his tantalizing scent, revelling in the bliss of the moment at every chance I got. He used to always mock me about it, but never push me off – instead, he wrapped his arms around me protectively, with one being used to try to flatten my hair; he'd give up in the end, since it was impossible to tame and in the end opted to run his fingers through the chestnut locks. The shirt I was holding now was streaked with my tears – I didn't even notice I was crying.

"Draco…." I whispered into the silence of the room, muffled by the shirt clutched in my shaking hands. More tears and sobs followed this one name of my beloved as I drifted into another fitful sleep, utterly exhausted.

"On the fourth day of Christmas, my friends tried to comfort me."

"Harry, you can't go on like this," Hermione said in a tone that made me wince. It's only been four days, I wanted to snap at her to make her shut up – to stop reminding me that he's dead, gone forever. My fist slammed into the coffee table next to the couch I was sitting on in frustration.

"Mate, calm down," Ron tried to console me – mostly out of fear, I guessed. The last time I got this angry was when Draco and I got into a fight about our friends and blood status; I broke a few windows and vases that were family heirlooms of his. "There is no point in getting angry – he's gone. He's not going to come back just because you're angry."

I shot them both a glare that made them flinch. It hurt me every time they brought it up. "There is a point to me being angry, Ron. Don't you remember how you stood there beside me, not moving, and let Draco get shot by a bullet?" I snapped.

Ron sat down, huffing and throwing his hands up in exasperation. Hermione paled considerably – the memory must still be fresh in her mind.

"Harry," was the dreamy voice of Luna, comforting and calm. "We understand that we made a grave mistake. We are sorry and we all miss him just as much as you-"

She was cut off by Ron's indignant proclamation. "Well, I sure don't."

Hermione gave me an apologetic look but it didn't seem to cool down my boiling fury.

"Get the hell out of this manor," I commanded in an authoritative tone, leaving no room for arguments. My hands shook as I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply for a moment before exhaling through my nose. At their disbelieving faces, I added, "All of you. Now." I clenched my jaw in an attempt to stop myself from uttering my list of limitless profanities and insults that I learnt from Draco.

"Harry, please-" Hermione tried to say but I cut her off with a raise of hand.

"No. I mean it, Hermione – get out," I gave her another glare which seemed to have succeeded in shutting her up. I could see her glance to Ron before taking his hand and guiding them out of the room; Luna followed them gingerly, not glancing back. Suddenly, Ron stopped abruptly and faced me, words tumbling from his lips – he was apologizing.

"I'm sorry, mate-" he started, tone whining. Annoying weasel, I thought Draco would describe him at this very moment.

"And don't come back. Ever," I said nonchalantly with an air of finality, shrugging off his sorry excuse of an apology. I watched them with a small (fake) smile as they left one by one.

 **I'm still working on it, as you can see. If you have any ideas or requests, please don't hesitate to PM me. Tell me what you thought of this so far by reviewing...please? Anything makes me happy. And I'm sorry for not updating Eighth Year yet. I really couldn't think of anything for it. If you have any ideas for that or want me to update really badly, just PM me and I'll get to it. Procrastination is my enemy.**


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